Age Of Empires 2 Quotes

No matter how old you are now. You are never too young or too old for success or going after what you want. Here’s a short list of people who accomplished great things at different ages 1) Helen Keller, at the age of 19 months, became deaf and blind. But that didn’t stop her. She was the first deaf and blind person to earn a Bachelor of Arts degree. 2) Mozart was already competent on keyboard and violin; he composed from the age of 5. 3) Shirley Temple was 6 when she became a movie star on “Bright Eyes.” 4) Anne Frank was 12 when she wrote the diary of Anne Frank. 5) Magnus Carlsen became a chess Grandmaster at the age of 13. 6) Nadia Comăneci was a gymnast from Romania that scored seven perfect 10.0 and won three gold medals at the Olympics at age 14. 7) Tenzin Gyatso was formally recognized as the 14th Dalai Lama in November 1950, at the age of 15. 8) Pele, a soccer superstar, was 17 years old when he won the world cup in 1958 with Brazil. 9) Elvis was a superstar by age 19. 10) John Lennon was 20 years and Paul Mcartney was 18 when the Beatles had their first concert in 1961. 11) Jesse Owens was 22 when he won 4 gold medals in Berlin 1936. 12) Beethoven was a piano virtuoso by age 23 13) Issac Newton wrote Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica at age 24 14) Roger Bannister was 25 when he broke the 4 minute mile record 15) Albert Einstein was 26 when he wrote the theory of relativity 16) Lance E. Armstrong was 27 when he won the tour de France 17) Michelangelo created two of the greatest sculptures “David” and “Pieta” by age 28 18) Alexander the Great, by age 29, had created one of the largest empires of the ancient world 19) J.K. Rowling was 30 years old when she finished the first manuscript of Harry Potter 20) Amelia Earhart was 31 years old when she became the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean 21) Oprah was 32 when she started her talk show, which has become the highest-rated program of its kind 22) Edmund Hillary was 33 when he became the first man to reach Mount Everest 23) Martin Luther King Jr. was 34 when he wrote the speech “I Have a Dream." 24) Marie Curie was 35 years old when she got nominated for a Nobel Prize in Physics 25) The Wright brothers, Orville (32) and Wilbur (36) invented and built the world's first successful airplane and making the first controlled, powered and sustained heavier-than-air human flight 26) Vincent Van Gogh was 37 when he died virtually unknown, yet his paintings today are worth millions. 27) Neil Armstrong was 38 when he became the first man to set foot on the moon. 28) Mark Twain was 40 when he wrote "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer", and 49 years old when he wrote "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" 29) Christopher Columbus was 41 when he discovered the Americas 30) Rosa Parks was 42 when she refused to obey the bus driver’s order to give up her seat to make room for a white passenger 31) John F. Kennedy was 43 years old when he became President of the United States 32) Henry Ford Was 45 when the Ford T came out. 33) Suzanne Collins was 46 when she wrote "The Hunger Games" 34) Charles Darwin was 50 years old when his book On the Origin of Species came out. 35) Leonardo Da Vinci was 51 years old when he painted the Mona Lisa. 36) Abraham Lincoln was 52 when he became president. 37) Ray Kroc Was 53 when he bought the McDonalds Franchise and took it to unprecedented levels. 38) Dr. Seuss was 54 when he wrote "The Cat in the Hat". 40) Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger III was 57 years old when he successfully ditched US Airways Flight 1549 in the Hudson River in 2009. All of the 155 passengers aboard the aircraft survived 41) Colonel Harland Sanders was 61 when he started the KFC Franchise 42) J.R.R Tolkien was 62 when the Lord of the Ring books came out 43) Ronald Reagan was 69 when he became President of the US 44) Jack Lalane at age 70 handcuffed, shackled, towed 70 rowboats 45) Nelson Mandela was 76 when he became President

A fool may scrawl on a slate and if no one has the wit to wipe it clean for a thousand years, the scrawl becomes the wisdom of ages.

We look on past ages with condescension, as a mere preparation for us....but what if we are a mere after-glow of them?

It's easier to believe the most outlandish lie that confirms what you suspect than the most obvious truth that denies it.

As the Roman Empire came to its close, all the old gods of the pagan world were seen as demons by the Christians who rose. It was useless to tell them as the centuries passed that their Christ was but another God of the Wood, dying and rising, as Dionysus or Osiris had done before him, and that the Virgin Mary was in fact the Good Mother again enshrined. Theirs was a new age of belief and conviction, and in it we became devils, detached from what they believed, as old knowledge was forgotten or misunderstood.

Although men were strong like rocks, any stone could crack. Women were more like water. They nurtured life and could shape the hardest granite through unrelenting determination.

You were a mistake, you know,” Flood told Frost as they plodded up the hill. “Mother didn’t want you.” Frost shook his head. “We’re twins, you idiot.

Losing leaves a bitter taste that lingers long after the sweetness of victory has been forgotten.

When something sounds like a giant vomiting up a dwarf, you should not expect sunshine and daisies.

you can’t have an adversary without being one.

Language, like the mouths that hold and release it, is wet & living, each   word is wrinkled with age, swollen with other words, with blood, smoothed by the numberless flesh tongues that have passed across it.   Your language hangs around your neck, a noose, a heavy necklace; each word is empire, each word is vampire and mother.

In any case, age is nothing more than the acquisition of Temporal Perspective! Oh, and rheumatism too, I must add.

Courageous hearts weren't banned from the breast of women.

Troublemakers in times of peace become heroes in times of trouble.

I know nothing about war. But let me tell you what I believe. I think running from responsibility breeds self-loathing and despair. I think people can, and do, rise to the occasion, and even a single person can make an incredible difference. What they need are leaders who believe in them, a belief that gives birth to hope. With hope, people can do remarkable things, amazing things.

Every life is a journey filled with crossroads. And then there are the bridges, those truly frightening choices that span what always was, from what will forever be. Finding the courage, or stupidity, to cross such bridges changes everything

You have an ability that can begin or end wars. You could launch this Empire into a glorious new and united age, and you could also destroy us. What you don’t get to do is remain neutral. When you have the power that you do, your life is not your own.

There always seemed to be a better way, except when it came to people. Once broken, people couldn't be repaired.

How many tears must we weep? How loud must we cry? How many farewells must we say, for the dead to hear goodbye?

The gods were gone, but imperial status remained unchanged –divinus remained a technical term meaning ‘imperial’. The emperor’s position was all the more central in that the Roman empire was regarded as, by definition, always victorious, a belief that survived even the disasters of the fifth century.

That's the thing about hatred, it can become rancid, and it'll turn into poison if you keep it bottled too long. Hatred will eat through any container and seep into the groundwater of a soul. Revenge is never enough to expel it because it keeps bubbling up anew. What you don't realize–can't really–is that by that time, it's all you are. You don't have the hate in you. The hate is you. When that wine is consumed, you won't ever be able to rid yourself of it. Can't vomit it up or spit it out. It'd be as impossible as escaping yourself.

Some things are simply unimaginable right up until you are looking at them, and even then, you might not believe. Love is that way; so is death.

It’s easier to believe the most outlandish lie that confirms what you suspect than the most obvious truth that denies it

The God Killer is the Coppersword’s favorite son. His secret treasure.

It’s never good when a tree screams.

When you are young, you cannot imagine what it is like to be old. When you are old, you often reflect on bygone youthful days when you felt invincible and the world was yours to explore - Huja

Take off that cloak before you melt," he said. "It wasn't disguising you." "Nor is that" - she waved at his peasant outfit - "disguising you." "It isn't supposed to. It merely conveys the message that I'm attempting to pass incognito." "That makes absolutely no sense.

So what are the other routes?" His lips curved. "Did I say there were any?" "You implied it." "Perhaps. And the next time you wish to leave, you have only to tell me, and I will show you ... and go with you." "I'm quite safe in the city." "But is the city safe when you are in it? That's the question.

Blast him," Ronan hissed as they surveyed the empty space behind the roadside shop. "He may tell us not to treat him as a prince, but he cannot stop acting like one. He does as he pleases." "Only when it's in my best interests," Tyrus said as he rounded the shop. Ronan glowered. "Which is anytime you don't like what you're told to do." Tyrus grinned. "True.

Hatred. Some people get filled with it and explode. If they survive, they move on. Others just let it dribble out over the years, like a leaky bucket. One day they notice the bucket is empty, and they wonder what had been in it in the first place. Still others use hatred as a weapon, going so far as to pass it onto others–an ugly, unwanted gift disguised as a virtuous heirloom.

Hatred. Some people get filled with it and explode. If they survive, they move on. Others just let it dribble out over the years, like a leaky bucket. One day they notice the bucket is empty, and they wonder what had been in it in the first place. Still others use hatred as a weapon, going so far as to pass it on to others—an ugly, unwanted gift disguised as a virtuous heirloom.

A lot can be determined by the choices we make, even if the action is initiated by self-preservation. Many ... no, most ... of our choices are driven by fear: fear of death, fear of humiliation, fear of loneliness. But it's how we respond to fear that matters. It's what defines us. What makes us who we are. So maybe in your mind you acted selfishly, but I'm alive because of the choice you made. So I'll remember it as an act of kindness and yes, even bravery.

Faith was a strange thing, Moria reflected as she walked over to Tyrus. No one would argue that the ancestors did not watch over them and could not influence the living world, but customs changed, and openly calling on spirits for support and guidance these days was often seen as a sign of weakness. Which was foolish, in her opinion. Whether an amulet band worked or not, it couldn't hurt. As their father would say, what often counted was whether one believed such protective rituals worked. Confidence in battle guarded one more than any spirit could.

They say all roads led to the imperial city. Of course that was true - all roads linked up with other roads and would ultimately take you anyplace you wished to go. This road did in fact become the Imperial Way, though, and was busy enough that they could follow Tyrus unnoticed. "Oh, he's noticed," Ronan said when Ashyn commented. "But he hasn't looked back once." "No, we haven't seen him look back. He's a prince and a warrior, Ash. He's not going to glance about like a nervous trader with a full purse. He acts as if no one would dare attack him, so they give him a wide berth. But he's fully aware of his surroundings. He knows we're here. He's jut not going to do anything about it unless we come closer.

Tyrus pushed the mummy off him and rose, whisking sloughed bits of dried flesh from his tunic. "Well, that wasn't at all humiliating," he said. "Please tell me I didn't shriek. And if I did? Remember I am of imperial lineage. Lie to me." "You didn't shriek," Moria said. "Still, it is a shame Simeon wasn't here to record the encounter for posterity. Prince Tyrus, attacked by a mummified monk. Truly though, it looked more like a monkey. A crazed monkey, clinging to you -" "Enough," he said with a feigned scowl. "Speaking of monks, did they see ...?" He looked around. Ivo had sidled off as they opened the box. Now he huddled with the other two a hundred paces away. "Well, at least they didn't bear close witness," Tyrus muttered. "You needn't worry," Ashyn said. "Two of them had taken vows of silence." "Though they might have been tempted to break them," Moria said. "To relay that particular story." "But I did not shriek, correct?" She smiled. "You did not shriek.

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The history of irregular media operations is complex and fractured; generalizations are difficult. Yet it is possible to isolate three large and overlapping historical phases: First, throughout the nineteenth century, irregular forces saw the state's telecommunications facilities as a target that could be physically attacked to weaken the armies and the authority of states and empires. Second, for most of the twentieth century after the world wars, irregulars slowly but successfully began using the mass media as a weapon. Telecommunications, and more specifically the press, were used to attack the moral support and cohesion of opposing political entities. Then, in the early part of the twenty-first century, a third phases began: irregular movements started using commoditized information technologies as an extended operating platform. The form and trajectory of the overarching information revolution, from the Industrial Revolution until today, historically benefited the nation-state and increased the power of regular armies. But this trend was reversed in the year 2000 when the New Economy's Dot-com bubble burst, an event that changed the face of the Web. What came thereafter, a second generation Internet, or "Web 2.0," does not favor the state, large firms, and big armies any more; instead the new Web, in an abstract but highly relevant way, resembles - and inadvertently mimics - the principles of subversion and irregular war. The unintended consequence for armed conflicts is that non-state insurgents benefit far more from the new media than do governments and counterinsurgents, a trend that is set to continue in the future.

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The church has an eschatological horizon and is, as proleptic manifestation of God's reign, the beachhead of the new creation, the vanguard of God's new world, and the sign of the dawning new age in the midst of the old (cf Beker 1980:313; 1984:41). At the same time it is precisely as these small and weak Pauline communities gather in worship to celebrate the victory already won and to pray for the coming of their Lord (“Marana tha !”), that they become aware of the terrible contradiction between what they believe on the one hand and what they empirically see and experience on the other, and also of the tension in which they live, the tension between the “already” and the “not yet.” “Christ the first fruits” has already risen from the dead (1 Cor 15:23) and the believers have been given the Spirit as “guarantee” of what is to come (2 Cor 1:22; 5:5), but there does not seem to be much apart from these “first fruits” and “pledge.” Like Abraham, they believe in hope against hope (Rom 4:18) and accept in faith the Spirit's witness that they are children and heirs of God and therefore fellow heirs with Christ—provided, says Paul, “we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him” (Rom 8:17). God will triumph, notwithstanding our weakness and suffering, but also in the midst of and because of and through our weakness and suffering (cf Beker 1980:364f). Faith is able to bear the tension between the confession of God's ultimate triumph, and the empirical reality of this world, for it knows that “in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us” (Rom 8:37) and that “in everything God works for good with those who love him, who are called according to his purpose” (8:28). Nowhere has Paul portrayed this unbearable (and precisely for this reason bearable!) tension more profoundly than in 2 Corinthians 4:7-10: But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, to show that the transcendent power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair, persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. Our Christian life in this world thus involves an inescapable tension, oscillating between joy and agony. Whereas, on the one hand, suffering and weakness become all the more intolerable and our agonizing, because of the terrifying “not yet,” intensifies, we can, on the other hand, already “rejoice in our sufferings” (Rom 5:2). This means that our life in this world must be cruciform; Paul bears on his body “the marks of Jesus” (Gal 6:17; cf Col 1:24), he carries “in the body the death of Jesus,” and while he lives he is “always being given up to death for Jesus’ sake” (2 Cor 4:10f) (cf also Beker 1980:145f, 366f; 1984:120).

Here the individual experience of thinking, 'how it feels', is presented as the ultimate evidence for the nature of thought. But as I hope Chapter 2 will make clear, language is not an imitation of thought, but its condition. It is only within language that the production of meaning is possible, however much our individual experience of producing meaning is one of stumbling and panic, and of looking for adequate formulations of what seems intuitive. Of course it is true that the written text does not necessarily reproduce the empirical process of thinking, but our analysis of the nature of thought need not confine itself to the question of how it feels to think. Frye's final appeal to experience, in conjunction with his account of a thought process culminating in 'a completely incommunicable intuition' places him within the same empiricist-idealist problematic as the New Critics. And for all its claims to science and systematicity, his own theory, like theirs, is fundamentally non-explanatory. Meaning for Frye inheres timelessly in 'verbal structures', intuitively available to readers in quite different ages and places because they recognize in them the echo of their own wishes and anxieties. But the only evidence for this concept of an essentially unchanging human nature is precisely the body of literary texts which the concept apparently offers to explain. The relationship between desire and language and between language and meaning is not discussed. At the same time, Frye's theory

There are many lies spoken during a war, even more before one. That is how they start.

I turned and found her watching me with sharper eyes than before, as if a chance wind had stirred the curtains of age and showed her as she once was, strong and attentive, if only for a moment.

One thing more makes these men and women from the age of wigs, swords, and stagecoaches seem surprisingly contemporary. This small group of people not only helped to end one of the worst of human injustices in the most powerful empire of its time; they also forged virtually every important tool used by citizens’ movements in democratic countries today. Think of what you’re likely to find in your mailbox—or electronic mailbox—over a month or two. An invitation to join the local chapter of a national environmental group. If you say yes, a logo to put on your car bumper. A flier asking you to boycott California grapes or Guatemalan coffee. A poster to put in your window promoting this campaign. A notice that a prominent social activist will be reading from her new book at your local bookstore. A plea that you write your representative in Congress or Parliament, to vote for that Guatemalan coffee boycott bill. A “report card” on how your legislators have voted on these and similar issues. A newsletter from the group organizing support for the grape pickers or the coffee workers. Each of these tools, from the poster to the political book tour, from the consumer boycott to investigative reporting designed to stir people to action, is part of what we take for granted in a democracy. Two and a half centuries ago, few people assumed this. When we wield any of these tools today, we are using techniques devised or perfected by the campaign that held its first meeting at 2 George Yard in 1787. From their successful crusade we still have much to learn. If, early that year, you had stood on a London street corner and insisted that slavery was morally wrong and should be stopped, nine out of ten listeners would have laughed you off as a crackpot. The tenth might have agreed with you in principle, but assured you that ending slavery was wildly impractical: the British Empire’s economy would collapse. The parliamentarian Edmund Burke, for example, opposed slavery but thought that the prospect of ending even just the Atlantic slave trade was “chimerical.” Within a few short years, however, the issue of slavery had moved to center stage in British political life. There was an abolition committee in every major city or town in touch with a central committee in London. More than 300,000 Britons were refusing to eat slave-grown sugar. Parliament was flooded with far more signatures on abolition petitions than it had ever received on any other subject. And in 1792, the House of Commons passed the first law banning the slave trade. For reasons we will see, a ban did not take effect for some years to come, and British slaves were not finally freed until long after that. But there was no mistaking something crucial: in an astonishingly short period of time, public opinion in Europe’s most powerful nation had undergone a sea change. From this unexpected transformation there would be no going back.

having secrets was like keeping a weasel inside a house. They don’t like it one bit and dig and claw to escape. A weasel will make a terrible mess of a home, and a secret does the same to a friendship.

Historical Setting A reference to “Jonah son of Amittai” in 2Ki 14:25 places the setting for the book of Jonah between 790 and 760 BC. Jonah therefore serves in the generation just before Amos and Hosea, at the beginning of classical prophecy in Israel. During the time of Jonah, the reign of Jeroboam II (793–753 BC) achieved unparalleled prosperity and military success in the history of Israel’s divided monarchy. The Arameans were the only hindrance to territorial expansion. Assyria, in a period of decline, was preoccupied with internal security. This background is important for it shows that the northern kingdom of Israel at this time was near the top, not the bottom, in the realm of international politics. This situation was a reversal from a century earlier when, under Shalmaneser III, the Assyrian Empire had extended its control into the west, exercising authority over Aram, Israel, Judah, and many others. The end of his reign, however, saw revolt by several Assyrian centers (including Nineveh) from 826–820 BC. His son, Shamshi-Adad V, subdued the rebellion, but Assyrian control over the west weakened considerably. Shamshi-Adad V died about 811 BC and left as heir to the throne his young son, Adadnirari III. Until the boy came of age the country was ruled by Shamshi-Adad’s widow, Sammuramat, who retained extensive control until her death. Adadnirari reigned until 783 BC. His city of residence and capital was not Nineveh, but Calah. He was succeeded by three sons: Shalmaneser IV, Ashur-Dan III and Ashurnirari V, respectively. This was a period of practical anarchy. Particularly notable is the series of rebellions between 763 and 758. These were led by disaffected officials who show evidence of usurping royal prerogatives. In such a political climate, a prophecy proclaiming the imminent fall of Nineveh would be taken quite seriously. With the accession of Tiglath-Pileser III in 745 BC, a new dynasty began that established Assyrian supremacy for a century. Tiglath-Pileser III was succeeded by Shalmaneser V, Sargon II and, finally, Sennacherib, who enlarged Nineveh and made it the capital of the Assyrian Empire more than 50 years after the time of Jonah. The importance of this information for the study of the book of Jonah is the understanding that at the time of Jonah, Assyria had not been a threat to Israel for a generation, and it would be no threat for a generation to come. In addition, when Jonah was sent to Nineveh, he was being sent not to the capital city of a vast empire but to one of the provincial centers of a struggling nation. Some would consider this evidence that the book of Jonah was written several centuries after the Assyrian Empire had come and gone by an author unfamiliar with the details of history. Preferably, it could suggest that God had chosen to send Jonah to Nineveh in anticipation of the role it would eventually play.

With a quick glance behind to make certain that no one was near and no one saw her, she dove through a curtain and pulled it shut behind her. The balcony was a box, its glass walls like black ice: sheer slices of the night outside. Light from the hallway lined the seam of the curtain and glowed at its hem, but Kestrel could barely see her own hands. She touched a glass pane. These windows would be open on the night of her wedding. The trees below would be in bloom, the air fragrant with cere blossoms. She would choke on it. Kestrel knew she would hate the scent of cere flowers all her life, as she ruled the empire, as she bore her husband’s children. As she aged and the ghosts of her choices haunted her. There was a sudden sound. The slide of wooden curtain rings on the rod. Light brightened behind Kestrel. Someone was coming through the velvet. He was pulling it wide, he was stepping onto Kestrel’s balcony--close, closer still as she turned and the curtain swayed, then stopped. He pinned the velvet against the frame. He held the sweep of it high, at the level of his gray eyes, which were silver in the shadows. He was here. He had come. Arin.

It has toppled empires and caused destruction. It is responsible for the worst tragedies and numerous maladies. Yet it is longed for, dreamed of, and fought for. What is it?

Every life is a journey filled with crossroads. And then there are the bridges, those truly frightening choices that span what always was, from what will forever be. Finding the courage, or stupidity, to cross such bridges changes everything.

She looked at the faces surrounding her and realized, perhaps for the first time, that she cared for these people. The friendships had crept up on her, becoming important without her realizing.

The easier way is to find the path within you. Then you can do anything; you can teach yourself. I can act as a guide by pointing you in the directions that worked for me, but you must take your own journey because no two Artists ever tread the same path. Artists create. That’s what it means to be an Artist, and part of that is creating your own way.

Nothing can be wholly good. It’s impossible. Creation gives birth to all thing, positive and negative, or what we think of as good and evil. Like all life, the power of creation seeks to exist.

Suri felt as if she’d spent her whole life on a little hill, content and happy. Then one day she glimpsed the truth, that the hill was actually the nose of a great best. Not easy to sleep after that. Knowing about the cords, realizing she could alter the world, made ignoring the possibilities intolerable. She was wearing a shirt with a loose thread and was dying to pull it—if for no other reason than to make the desire go away, to make it stop distracting her.

I’m sow-wee” he said to the night, because he couldn’t say it to the ones he loved.

A lot can be determined by the choices we make, even if the action is initiated by self-preservation. Many…no, most…of our choices are driven by fear; fear of death, fear of humiliation, fear of loneliness. But it’s how we respond to the fear that matters. It’s what defines us. What makes us who we are. So maybe in your mind you acted selfishly, but I’m alive because of a choice you made. So I’ll remember it as an act of kindness and, yes, even bravery.

These were his last few seconds of ignorance, his beautiful sunset that separated doubt from a future of certainty, and he wanted to stretch out that time as long as possible.

So these markings are the language of the Fhrey?” Brin asked. Arion shook her head “Language of Creation.” “It’s the song of birds,” Suri said. “The sound of wind, and rain, and rivers, the flap of wings, the rustle of grass. It’s the voice of trees.

What good is insulting someone if they don’t know you’re doing it?

How old did you say you were, Lucius? Thirty-two?” Epaphroditus shook his head. “A dangerous age for a man—old enough to feel that he should be in charge of his destiny and to chafe against the constraints of living under an absolute ruler, but perhaps not yet old enough to discern the fine line that a man must tread if he’s to survive the whims of Fortune.

A lot can be determined by the choices we make, even if the action is initiated by self-preservation. Many...no, most...of our choices are driven by fear: fear of death, fear of humiliation, fear of loneliness. But it's how we respond to fear that matters. It's what defines us. What makes us who we are.

It’s easier to believe the most outlandish lie that confirms what you suspect than the most obvious truth that denies

You never know what you are capable of until you are so desperate as to try anything. You might be pleased or disappointed, but always, always surprised. The Book of Brin

Remember we shall never stop, never weary, and never give in, and that our whole people and Empire have vowed themselves to the task of cleansing Europe from the Nazi pestilence and saving the world from the new Dark Ages.

Yes, you are right. You would make a good sovereign, undoubtedly a better one than my brother. But is there anything strange in this that a father wishes his child to experience the greatest glory the world may offer?”“But have you ever considered that happiness may be the thing that I desire the most?”The question came with such gravity of tone that immediately the prince looked up in astonishment and observed his slender, adolescent son now calmly contemplating his father with eyes suddenly stripped of their usual carefree innocence. “From the very first day that I saw you, tiny as you were, a wet nurse giving you suck, I have been thinking of your happiness. And today, you have spoken to the point yourself. Tell me what you mean by it, for what greater happiness is there than to become the sovereign of a vast and powerful empire and the lord of countless cities and ships?”Perilavos shook his head. “Maybe you are right, father, but I would never regard this as happiness...”And quickly, as though afraid the infuriated prince would interrupt him and forbid him to finish, he said: “My uncle longs to see us perish, and for this reason, we have sailed from Crete. But believe me, if he were to know how jubilantly I received his command, he would undoubtedly reconsider it. For if ever I am compelled to defy him to become Minos, there is no doubt in my mind that as an experienced seafarer and warrior, toughened by many hardships and with a deeper knowledge of the world, I will appear to him as a terrifying enemy. And if he is no longer among the living when we return, I shall become sovereign at once and restore our kingdom to its former magnificence. You yourself have always maintained that Crete is falling as a result of our effeminate ways. I wish to be a man, father, and that I shall be.

Older women are of less sexual and reproductive, and thus by extension, matrimonial value. This is just biology meets the Catholic sacrament of matrimony, of which its virtues are 1) pleasing your spouse and 2) making children. Older women, being less fertile and less able to please their spouse, thus make for less virtuous marriages. If the excellence of marriage is grounded in the unitative and procreative telos of sexuality, a woman's youth and fertility are virtuous traits and a virtuous man would rightly prize those traits in a prospective wife. Let us perform an empirical investigation. If we compare societies where the norm of marriage is at a younger age (for the girl) rather than an older age, which marriages are more fruitful? That is, which marriages produce more children and are less likely to end in divorce? I'm sure we are equally acquainted with the results of our modern Western norms, are you acquainted with the results of non-modern Western norms? Excusing, rather than excoriating, modern Western norms is mere sophistry, sophistry which our host has held forth as an ostensibly authentic Catholic view. However, it simply isn't; it is a modern view dressed up in Catholic-sounding phrases.

It seems terror is a companion in the soft years when everything is new, and returns to us with age, as we acquire things to lose.

It’s easier to believe the most outlandish lie that confirms what you suspect than the most obvious truth that denies it.

My name isn’t Shirley.

So, we're discussing the issue of Fairview." "No, we are not. This is a private conversation." Ronan sputtered and shot her looks of alarm. She ignored him. She'd spent enough time with Tyrus to take liberties - and to know he'd allow them, even enjoyed the informality. "How can the meeting be private," Tyrus said. "If you're holding it in a public place?" "Because I don't have a private place. Not even my suite. I was bathing yesterday and a maidservant brought in fresh towels." "They're very attentive." "Which is fine. Just not while I'm bathing." Tyrus grinned. "I don't mind them." She rolled her eyes.

Everyone thinks their adversary has an easier time than they do. They believe that all their opponent’s schemes work out exactly as expected, while their own plans constantly suffer setbacks. It is a funny notion, especially since you can’t have an adversary without being one.

I think running from responsibility breeds self-loathing and despair. I think people can, and do, rise to the occasion, and even a single person can make an incredible difference. What they need are leaders who believe in them, a belief that gives birth to hope. With hope, people can do remarkable things, amazing things. Between hope and despair, I’ll take hope every time.

to learn…to teach yourself…that’s part of what it takes to be an Artist. It’s the most important part. Some never learn that. They can only repeat what they’ve been taught, but that’s not true art. Art is creating,

Ronan sighed. " You have no gift for the art of conversation, Moria. All right. I take it Ashyn is well, Please tell her ..." He struggled long enough for words that Moria sighed with impatience. "I'll tell her you send your undying love and cannot wait to see her gentle face again." From the look on Ronan's face, you'd think she'd suggested telling Ashyn he wished her a slow and tortured death. "Fine," she said. "I'll tell her you asked after her and that it would be pleasant to speak with her, once she is permitted to do so." "Yes, thank you. I have great regard for your sister, but she is a Seeker, and I have good reason for not ..." Moria peered at him. "Not what?" "I ... have great regard for your sister." "Yes, yes, you said that. I didn't come to play matchmaker.

Roan prepared herself, held her breath, and turned her head. It wasn’t Iver. In the glow of the green light, she saw Persephone, Moya, and Arion sitting near the center of the stone chamber. Everything came back. She wasn’t at home; she was trapped in a foreign land a mile beneath the world in a stone tomb with no water and little food, and there was a demon who would soon break through their barricade and kill them. Oh, thank you, Mari! Thank you! She sighed in relief and relaxed.

The mummy twitched. This time, both Ronan and Tyrus leaped on it, blades slashing. Ronan severed an arm. Tyrus cleaved the corpse clean in half, the legs falling free. Yet the thing was already in flight, hurtling itself at Moria ... who skewered it on the end of her outthrust dagger. She held it there, casually, as the mummy gnashed its teeth and clawed with its remaining arm. "Need some help with that?" Tyrus asked. "No, it's remarkably light. That must be a result of the drying process." "And the fact it's missing three limbs." "True." Ashyn cast a nervous glance at the huddled monks, now shifting and looking their way. "We ought to lower our voices. Or be more respectful. It is a monk, after all." "Mmm, not truly," Moria said. "It's only part of a monk." She caught Ashyn's look. "Yes, I know. Give me a hand getting it free.

Guin rode a few paces in thoughtful silence before continuing, "I suppose they thought I would take measures to prevent pregnancy. However, to do such a thing requires knowing that it exists. I don't know if the situation has changed, but in my time, one certainly did not discuss those matters with girls." Another thoughtful pause. "Though it would seem, since they are most affected, they ought to know." "Yes," Ashyn said. "They ought.

I've done something wrong," Ronan grumbled as he shoved his spare tunic into his pack. "You know you haven't." Ashyn handed him his sleeping blanket. "See? Even you're trying to get rid of me. I've done something." She sighed. "Yes, Ronan, you have. I'm sorry, but it must be said. You've committed a grave offence. You wouldn't go back to check on your brother and sister until Tyrus put his boot to your arse." His brows lifted at her choice of words. Just because she rarely used strong language did not mean she did not know it. In fact, she'd wager her vocabulary for profanity exceeded his own. That's what came of extensive reading ... and growing up around warriors and traders. "You know Tyrus is right," she continued. "You ought to check on them, and you want to check on them. You just needed ..." "A kick in the arse?" "Exactly." She rolled dried fruit and meat in a cloth.

Old men make old words holy. I say old words are worn out and should be set aside. Take a new bride to bed, not a hag,” I said, thinking of Ekatri. “A fool may scrawl on a slate and if no one has the wit to wipe it clean for a thousand years, the scrawl becomes the wisdom of ages.